


Get Away from Myself

by starrelia (orphan_account)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, M/M, Strangulation, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 15:01:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13883322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/starrelia
Summary: The death of his brother has led Hanzo to flee, to try and find some sort of solace so that he may too join him… away from the clan, a target on his back while he hopes to find some sort of fitting end to his pitiful life, now that he is nothing more but a brother killer.What an irony it is, that the very same “dead” brother has sent his hunters out to get Hanzo for him are the ones who succeed where everyone else has failed.





	Get Away from Myself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Basura Leche (artzypinkcow)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/artzypinkcow/gifts).



> This was written for my friend's birthday, even though it was extremely late!
> 
>  
> 
> [ Tumblr link. ](https://masculinedevil.tumblr.com/post/171543350652/get-away-from-myself)

_Something’s not right_

He has gotten used to such feelings; a target etched upon his back, labelling him as something to chase down and kill, give in for a reward that his clan promises with filthy little lies. He knows them better than anyone else; it is a trait that has been taught and not inherited, the manipulation of people around them and treating them as toys and tools rather than actual living beings with their own thoughts and opinions.

There are of course some humans that have been broken down terribly; his clan has their own fair share of human slaves, people that have been torn apart and broken until there is nothing left of them but an echo, a mirror image of a hollowed out doll that will fight and kill themselves for the Shimada clan. Where he is now, he knows – certain – that no one will try and chase him, or even try and find him here.

He is huddled in an abandoned apartment building in the red-light district, where his brother has once frequented – whores, druggies and all sorts of degenerates are wandering the streets, while the simple and clean civilians try to rush through to get to their homes, away from all the depravity that taints this place. A fondness he holds for them not, and there is a misguided sort of nostalgia that rears its ugly head up when he thinks to Genji and his insatiable appetite.

Something that the clan and Hanzo himself has hated, but they accepted it regardless… until it became too much, money draining at a rate faster than they expected; illegalities too expensive to even support, even with them being yakuza, and an end has been put to it all. He lets one leg stretch out, the other drawn up to the knee to his face as his arm hangs over it, and he stares out disinterested through the window of the apartment building.

It did take him some time to make sure that the heating in this place is working again, the lightning left alone for he does not want anyone to bother trying to come into the apartment. Abandoned it may be, it is still in some good shape and enough to house him until he needs to leave once more. To think himself a traitor to the clan… preposterous, and yet here he is; alone with the bare minimum, his bow settled delicately upon a dresser while his quiver leans against said dresser.

His hair is a mess, greasy with how long he has been on the run and unable to share, and his skin crawls. The water here still works, but it is too dark in the apartment for him to shower without slipping and that is not an embarrassing death that he wants to have the dragons be witness to; and he doubts that he will be found until they plan to break this place down.

Given how the government is juggling all the new issues in Japan now, Hanzo doubts that they will get to breaking the complex down until he has full and well rotted away to _nothing_ but bones. He hopes the maggots will be swift in eating his body, a mercy given to him that his body is destroyed sooner than later.

It is not as if he will die here, even if death gives him some sort of sickening comfort. Perhaps someday, he will be able to find the perfect place to pull his blade on himself – yet, he needs to first grab the blade and earn the courage to put an end to himself and join his brother. A deep love that transcends even life, but is not enough to keep him from striking and obeying his clan.

What a failure he has been to his brother; what ever has he done to let Genji know of the true depth of his affection for him? Nothing, he thinks. He has done nothing at all, and now his brother is dead and Hanzo has nothing more to do than to accept it and try and honourably kill himself. How odd it is, he thinks; he remembers loving life, being scared of death, and training hard to not only make his clan proud but to keep himself from ever becoming vulnerable…

Now, he has a newfound settled calm for it. His brother’s blood has sunk into his skin, staining his muscles with it and now he wishes to make sure Genji knows of his regrets. His brother, who rest in Hell, will Hanzo be able to meet with him? His brother, who rest in Hell, will he be watching this from below?

There is no Heaven for them both. Exhaustion strikes him then, eyelids growing heavy and his gaze blurring, and he moves the curtains over to cover up the blaring red neons that filter inside before he lays down onto the bed. He has not changed out of his clothes, and discomfort settles at the way his clothes dig into his skin or how his padded armour makes it difficult to fully rest, and still Hanzo accepts it.

It is the least he deserves.

* * *

Everything is hazy around him; the voices that shout slur in with the endless beeps, tools clinking together and Genji finds that he cannot see. Blackness surrounds his vision, drowns him in it, and he finds himself trying to move to even feel something around him, and a cacophony of panicked voices bursts through as they notice his attempted to movements.

Something presses him down, the grip strong and metallic – omnic? – and Genji is pinned down, unable to do much more other than lay there unable to speak, unable to see, unable to hear, able to breathe. Someone shouts for something, then there is a piercing feeling against the side of his neck and his sense of balance spins – his world topples over to the sides, falls over, and Genji opens his eyes once more.

Still he cannot see, but the clinking and beeping have all but stopped. There are people still talking; a man and woman, he can recognise, he thinks, he may be wrong but the assumption – the assumption is there, stays. Heavy and uncomfortable. He twitches, tries to speak, and finds he cannot move his mouth, cannot feel his teeth, cannot feel his face-

His greatest weapon gone, his greatest asset shrouded in void, and he is as light as air. He twitches once more, something tugs and a machinery smack against one another and the talking stops. A hand is placed on his pec, and once more something is pressed into his neck. A warbled, wet sounding _sorry_ drawls through, the only thing he has been able to hear, and Genji wants to reach out to whoever has apologised.

Everything slams to the left and then propels to the right, spinning and spinning and spinning, and Genji’s eyes are still wide open – or so he thinks his eyes are open. This time, his eyes flutter, blurry wet as tears stick to his eyelashes, and he is in a bright, white room that smells so clean, the beeping returns, and there are machines surrounding him.

Some sort of nurse stands by his side, a clipboard in her hand while the other adjusts some of the needles and fluids, makes sure that everything is in perfect, working condition before she glances at Genji and hastily makes her leave. His body feels heavy, his mouth still cannot move, he cannot feel his _jaw,_ and all he can do is stare up at the white ceiling that glares down at him with its brightness. Time passes, with no clock on the walls to tell him how long, and Genji jolts when he hears the door open and two sets of footfalls echo in his room.

“Mr. Shimada,” a woman’s voice says, the same once as before, the second time his eyes have opened, “I am doctor Angela Ziegler. I was the one who was able to save you with the help of some experimental tech… I was—I was able to keep _whatever_ it was that was eat…” she struggles then, as if she cannot believe the words able to escape her lips. “… eat—eating you from finishing its job.”

The dragons’ lingering powers. He remembers now – they devour at whatever it is that they have been unleashed upon, tearing them up inside and out until there is nothing left of them to bury; horrific and inhuman, the primitive sides of the bound deities being freed upon their foes. He closes his eyes and tries to focus, tries to reach out to his own dragons, and finds that only one responds to him now –

Barely alive, barely powerful, a whimper of a deity as it reaches out for dragon and tries to soothe the ache in his head. His other dragon has died, eaten up by his brother’s as it tries to protect him. His eyes open up again and he turns his head to look over at the average height woman and the uncharacteristically short man besides her.

“This man,” Angela continues, “is the one who was able to make your prosthetic eyes.” She shifts a bit, uneasily. The man next to her crosses his arms, a glare on his face as he looks at Genji and he can’t respond to anything. His chest heaves, head moving and bobbing as he tries to convey anything, and Angela looks saddened by the attempts.

“Torbjörn Lindholm is the name, kid.” Torbjörn says gruffly, and he uncrosses his arms to approach Genji and it is then that he takes in the prosthetic of his other arm – less meant to work as an actual arm, he is realising, and more like some sort of odd tool. “I’ll be makin’ yer body, and we’ll be gettin’ this all and over with. It won’t hurt.”

That is the only thing he says before he is turning and leaving the room, grumbling something about the place being too stuffy and Angela just shifts side to side, looking uncomfortable at being left in the room with Genji. “I am sorry.” Angela says eventually, her voice soft and begging for forgiveness. “My formula is still not able to recreate lost limbs; we were able to get back most of your organs, but you…” she struggles to gets the words out, hand forming a fist and relaxing, over and over. “You will need prosthetics. We are working on it. Torbjörn is the best there is. I assure you.” Genji cannot respond and she leaves quick, aware of it all too well, and he stares at her retreating back before he stares back up at the ceiling. He falls asleep before long, discomforted by the fact that he knows what has happened to his body and what is left behind of him… and what is left behind is absolutely nothing.

 

Nothing at all.

Weeks pass by; Torbjörn spends time with other engineers and doctors trying to make new limbs and bodies for him, trying to get Angela’s medicine to help keep his existing organs alive; intensive invasive surgeries are done on him, trying to fix up whatever it is that Hanzo has done to him.

It is Hanzo’s fault he is like this. It is Hanzo’s fault one of his dragons has died. It is Hanzo’s fault that his body has been born to shreds and it is all because of him that the doctors and engineers have to figure out workarounds on how to keep him as human as possible.

All of this is because of Hanzo and his inability to turn his back on the clan that has abused him. All because of Hanzo.

Hanzo.

_Hanzo._

Hanzo. Hanzo, Hanzo, Hanzo. Hanzo. Hanzo. Hanzo. **_HANZO._**

**_It was all because of Hanzo. All because of Hanzo. Hanzo. Hanzo. Hanzo. Hanzo!_ **

With his newfound hand, red, white and _odd,_ he buries it into his hair to calm himself, to calm his raging thoughts and his anger. Months have passed now and he is… _whole,_ in a sense. In a brutally cold sense. It is then that he meets his commander in the new room he is given; with him sitting on his bed, his sword staring at him like a taunt –

His own sword far, far away; he wants it back, the blade just as alive as the dragons inside of him, it calls to him – sings, and he wonders how it is that this far away, stuck in America of all places, that he is still able to hear the bloodlust of his blade. He looks up at his commander at the clearing of his throat. He looks up at him, stares at him, and the commander and Genji glares.

“Shimada.” The commander says, his voice softer than he expected and he relaxes. “Name’s Reyes. Gabriel Reyes. I’m the commander of Blackwatch, the division of Overwatch that you are going to be part of-“

“I refuse.” Genji says blankly. At that, Gabriel’s eyebrows shoot upwards, curious. Before he can get another word out, Genji interjects. “I will give you a condition. Bring my brother to me,” he says smoothly, “and I won’t kill everyone in this base.”

Gabriel’s expression is guarded, revealing nothing at all, and Genji looks at him with unhidden interest. “What makes you think you can kill twenty or more men on your own, kid?”

“I am the Oni of my clan.” Genji says simply, as if that is explanation enough, and Gabriel’s eyes seem to flash with some sort of understanding. “You’ve stalked me. You know who I am. Who I was.” Genji’s words continue, and if he could smile he would. “You want me to slaughter people for you.”

A huff, then, “you have a mole in here, don’t you?” Gabriel shakes his head, unamused and frowning now. “You gonna keep your word, or are you gonna turn your backs on us if we even try and get your brother? ‘Cause you’re right. I know what you’re capable of, and I ain’t risking your anger, kid.” He takes confident strides closer, bending down so that they are eye level. “You won’t break this promise, will you?”

“No,” Genji says pleasantly, “I just want my brother.” He continues airily. “I want my dearest, dearest brother. I want Hanzo, and then I’ll do _whatever_ you want me to do. I’ll convert Christian, I’ll kill your president, I’ll fling _shit_ at children if you want me to. Just give me my brother, and I will be at your services… until Blackwatch is no more.”

* * *

Vulnerability is par for the course for being a runaway, but the paranoia has been getting _worse_ now. Dreams of green plague him now, morphing into nightmares and he can _feel_ the dragons’ discomfort at the nightmares that have become the norm now. It is unfamiliar to feel such a thing from his deities, their confidence and arrogance unwavering always and forever; even before Hanzo has been gifted them, all know of the azure dragons and their boundless ego.

The emerald ones were humbler than the azures; their strengths equal, even if their personalities were not, and has - had always been a point of humour for Genji that he gets along better with Hanzo’s dragons than he does his own. He, himself, is in no way humble; the emerald dragons do not look at him fondly, nor do they do the same with Genji, and Hanzo assumes nothing from it.

Yet, he dreams of green now, and the dragons grow more and more restless with each night that passes. Pure green begins to morph into the shape of someone screaming at him, their features indistinguishable but their voice so clear to him – so recognisable.

How can he forget the voice of his own brother? Genji screams in his head, something raw and hateful and embittered, and Hanzo often wakes with tears in his eyes and yet the understanding that he _deserves_ this punishment. He is in a new part of Tokyo now, another abandoned building, and a part of him considers rejecting society and becoming a forest hermit instead.

The grass will be welcoming and freeing to him, embracing his body so that it may be used for something besides maggot food. The dragons rebel at the thought, hissing and angry already at the thought of his suicide and growing _angrier_ at the idea of even further running away and becoming a hermit, and it is only because of the headache that Hanzo lets go of such fancies.

Besides, he will miss the food – and Hanzo can’t help but laugh as he thinks of how Genji finds his love of food uncharacteristic. His love of cooking, his love of eating… Genji has always poked at it; never pointed fun, no, but he is always flabbergasted that his brother likes such things.

His laughter get stuck in the back of his throat and Hanzo can’t help but sniffle in upset at the thought of Genji smiling no more, of the mistake he has committed. His brother is gone, and there is nothing Hanzo can do to rectify that but to try and atone for it while alive. He gathers his bag, puts everything back in, and makes sure to place the small device to disguise his bow so that he may be able to go and buy something to eat.

That is how he has spent his time, really; he has no time to go and buy groceries to cook for himself, there is no place he really wants to spend at, and he has no urge to give himself work and time to think when he can merely eat his meals and carry on with his way. After all, he is not going to be staying in a hotel either; he can more than easily steal money and even make some by taking up the bounties that other yakuza put up.

They will not tell his clan of his whereabouts as long as they do not know it is him, and Hanzo is as handy as his brother has been with make-up. Disguising himself is no difficult task, and Hanzo finds that the rhythm he has set up for himself has soothed him slightly. But even still, the dreams persist; a stunning green, one of his most hated colours, and the green figure continues to shriek insults at him for what Hanzo has done.

Is this his brother’s soul’s way of tormenting him? If so… his brother is more successful than he surely realises. The dreadful green stares back at him, paints his soul, and Hanzo comes to loathe his mind even further even with the conflicting calm that his new life is giving him.

 

 

One day, something changes. He wakes up, poorly-rested and immediately on alert; paranoia spikes up as an unwelcomed burden, his back is ramrod straight and Hanzo looks around the room to see if anyone has broken in. He checks the nooks and cranny of every single thing in this abandoned shack, the owners having committed a joint suicide years ago, and he finds that nothing has been moved. There is not a single bit of disturbance in the shack, and yet he cannot calm his nerves.

The dragons are a whirlwind of unease and anger inside of him, a raging hurricane that refuses to rest even as Hanzo tries his best to focus on something else, and the distinct feeling of being watched does not go away. He tries to continue his day as normal; he spends his usual amount of time applying his make-up and changing his entire facial structure with ease.

Eyes follow every minute detail, the way his hands tremble and how his body is now shaking with the realisation that he is being watched. He has to be. His time in the clan has taught him well – if you well that you are being watched, then you _are._ Who could it be? Did his clan finally find him? Is it an assassin? Whoever could it be that is watching him?

Saliva gathers in his mouth tenfold, and Hanzo spits it all out and gags, coughs as he dry heaves into the sink. Giving himself away will only worsen his situation; he is a target, and if he acts out of the ordinary then who is to know what his assassin would do? He fills his mouth with water to spit out the bad taste in it, having already brushed his teeth, and he hurries his way out.

The sensation does not stop. He cannot grab a bounty like this, like he wants to; who is going to give him a mission when he is a nervous wreck? He is better off just getting food and merely wandering about, maybe heading to the library with how he is disguised now and to read. How long has it been since he has last read a book?  Perhaps his pursuer will leave him alone if he goes somewhere crowded?

Hours pass and Hanzo tries to go through every crowded area he can, until it is far too late at night and people are filtering their way home.

He is alone, and it is in that loneliness that something hits him in the back of the neck – fast, quick, and Hanzo’s eyes widen as his body grows heavy, turning into stone, and he crumbles to the floor easily. His eyes slip shut, and all he sees behind his eyelids is his hated colour: a vivid, bright green.

How funny. Now that he is being knocked out, he remembers something… oh so very odd.

 

 

Genji’s favourite colour has always been red.

* * *

He jolts awake in his room when the doors slide open loudly, and before he can word anything… something – or rather _someone_ is thrown unceremoniously to the floor of his room. The person lands with a loud thud and a gagged groan, and Genji stares at it wide. The long black hair, the clan clothes on his body, the sharp features of his face… shrill laughter escapes him, high-pitched and maddened and Gabriel just flinches at the sound.

“You’ll have a mission tomorrow.” Gabriel says when Genji’s laughter dies down and he only nods at him, his heart pounding rabbit-fast against his new ribs and the door slides shut with an almost inaudible click. He is jumping off his bed immediately, his hands reaching out to grab at Hanzo’s face and he squeezes his cheeks and Hanzo can only make an odd noise thanks to the gag in his mouth, forcing his lips open and his tongue to push against the cloth inside.

Drool slides down the sides of Hanzo’s chin and Genji turns his head side to side, checking to make sure that Hanzo has not been hurt anymore, and satisfaction blooms in his chest when he realises that his brother has not been hurt by anyone in Blackwatch. _‘Good.’_ he thinks while his fingers run through Hanzo’s hair – even with his new body, he can still feel how very beautifully _soft_ his hair is.

It has always been a sin that his brother is this beautifully handsome, and yet Genji can only settle with replacements from bars and clubs. He bends down, his mouth-plate sliding down to reveal his new jaw and lip and he presses scarred and prosthetic flesh against Hanzo’s wet, open mouth. He backs away then, a shark tooth grin on his face as he stares down at Hanzo.

He has all the time in the world, and Genji can only be grateful that his brother’s hands are tied behind him as he reaches down to his foot and grabs one of the daggers there. Slicing through Hanzo’s clothes is easy, the blade grazing against his pretty skin and leaving behind a thin red line and Genji shudders. How long has he been waiting to have his brother like this?

There is no stopping until Hanzo is almost completely naked, his fundoshi being left on because Genji _adores_ how it looks on his brother; so old-fashioned and adorable, adding only to the charm that Hanzo did not know he had. He fans his fingers out on Hanzo’s flesh, watches him jolt and squirm, trying to fight back, and Genji merely sat down on his legs to keep him from kicking at him. He is heavier now, legs squeezing Hanzo’s sides, and Genji runs his hands up and down the body underneath him.

The muscles underneath him tremble, sinking in as Hanzo tries to get as far away from him as he can; with the blindfold, he probably has no clue who it is that is touching him like this, mapping his skin like he is some sort of artefact deserving to be preserved and enjoyed. He squeezes at Hanzo’s bountiful pecs, cooing at how swollen they are, and the flame in his gut worsens as his brother tries to buck Genji off.

How beautiful, how so very beautiful it is to see Hanzo like this… his hand runs through his hair once more, long and silky smooth as it slides in between his fingertips. He balls his hand into a tight fist and grabs, then tugs it hard and a cry escapes around the gag; muffled, pained, and Genji just laughs. He doubts Hanzo can recognise his voice anymore, not with how digitised it is now.

Doesn’t this make this all the more thrilling? He moves down, his hands sliding up and down Hanzo’s chest and cupping at his fundoshi’s front, laughing at the squeal that tries to escape, and his hands make their way back up… and wrap around Hanzo’s throat, fingers wrapping tight around the neck exposed to him, and Genji smiles down at him, unseen.

There is a struggle underneath him, an arch of his back and a desperate bucking of his hips as Hanzo tries to force Genji off of him as his grip around that pristine throat tightens. He writhes underneath Genji, unmoving, and even with his mouth full of a cloth he cries out in absolutely distress as his breath continues to be stolen away from him.

So beautiful – it’s so beautiful watching the colour of his face change, turning bluer with each second that ticks by, and it is only when Hanzo has lost his consciousness from lack of air does Genji let go. Hand-shaped bruises begin to form underneath his fingertips, splotchy and inconsistent and gorgeous. He uses his prosthetic hand to stroke the bruise underneath, a collar of blue formed, and Genji sighs.

This is his mark on Hanzo now, a reminder that he will never be able to get away, and Genji smiles giddily at the prospect of remarking Hanzo’s throat like this…

 

Over and over again, until he finally grows bored and snaps his brother’s throat to kill him like he has killed Genji.


End file.
